


Marks

by cozy_downpour



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Light Smut, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29513274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozy_downpour/pseuds/cozy_downpour
Summary: You never really cared about them until she left them.She left her first one after your lips had met for what felt like hours, searing and burning imprints of chapped skin against each other. While her hands tangled in your long hair and your hips bucked with need.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 3
Kudos: 153





	Marks

**Author's Note:**

> So I definitely know this isn’t the fic you’re waiting for. I am working on those. I wrote most of this last year and cleaned it up this morning while cleaning up my document drive! It was an exercise in writing second person pov- Tobin!

You never really cared about them until  _ she _ left them. 

She left her first one after your lips had met for what felt like hours, searing and burning imprints of chapped skin against each other. While her hands tangled in your long hair and your hips bucked with need. 

Her kisses trailed across your sharp jaw and down to your neck. Licking at the hollow space under your ear that drove you  _ wild _ . Each heavy pant from her traveled down your overheating skin, and you felt your eyes roll back as she clasped her lips around your unblemished, creamy, tanned skin. 

She sucked down, biting and nipping with her teeth then running her tongue across the swelling bruises. They ran up and down your neck, and you were  _ goddamn _ sure that they were the first marks you’ve ever had left there. 

Your hands run down her back, bunching up the fabric of her navy blue warm-up tank. She moans out, rolling her hips down against yours. 

“God... _ Tobin _ ,” Christen sighs out as you move up onto your elbows, pulling her closer to yourself. Her lips return to yours, tongue pressing up against the roof of your mouth. You can feel the bites on your neck burning like they were seared onto the skin. Your stomach coils with bubbling heat at the feeling, your wetness dripping down your thighs as your hand curls under Christen’s work out shorts. You tease a finger across her cheeky underwear, picturing the white pair that you saw earlier in the locker room. The pair that you let your gaze linger on for a touch too long, the pair that made your mouth dry while thinking about you might taste under the fabric if you got lucky that night.

Christen moans and she settles her knees down into the mattress, pushes her hips closer to yours and lets your hand slip down between her folds. 

“Fuck...Chris,” You whine, feeling her hungry lips attach again until --

“Harry I’m home--WHOA THERE!” Allie Long steps into your room and you know you’re screwed. Christen untangles herself from you, and your body whimpers at the loss as you burn like a flame. Her face is red and she mumbles a “goodnight” to you and Allie, heading down to her room across the hallway of the hotel. Fleeing the scene of her unruly crime. 

“Harry! I said to knock!” You croak out as you regain your voice, hoarse from the whining. You feel the heat across your cheeks, and you just want to hide. But Allie’s bright prying eyes won’t let you be. She sits on her bed, placing her water bottle on the nightstand and faces you.

“So why didn’t I know about you and Press?” Allie asks. Her tone isn’t accusing, it’s gentle and kind. If there’s anything you know about Allie it’s her kindness, in any circumstance. Even when she shouldn’t be. 

“You weren’t supposed to know,” You grumble, sinking as far into the hotel sheets as you can. “It’s new and fresh and you can’t tell anyone!”

Allie chuckles at your indignation, a smirk curling across her pouty lips. 

“Look, I’m happy for you I really am Harry but--”

“You have to promise me you won’t tell anyone.” You beg her to make a promise, not ready for it to hit the rumor mill of camp. There was too much going on already another relationship at camp would just complicate everything—

“Harry your neck already tells the world you’ve got a girl,” Allie says with a low whistle while your hand goes to your neck.  _ Fuck okay. Maybe it does _ . 

You think about it and realize later in the bathroom while glancing at the red marks. You realize that you like it. The way you feel the raised skin and see the little bites. Christen did a number on you and it gives you a thrill knowing you’re hers.

_ Hers _ .

\----

You make a promise not to get too hot and heavy before game days. Neither of you has perfected the art of covering up a hickey or two or three. It’s for safety really. Which is why you’re having to pull back from Christen’s nipping teeth the morning before a Royals V Thorns match in the afternoon. 

“Babe, come on,” You pant, cupping Christen’s face in your hands. Her lips are swollen and her eyes are overcome with lust, deep jade green in the morning light through your bedroom window. “You know we can’t.”

Christen pushes her curls back, huffing softly. “What if I said I don’t care.” She’s being a bit needy but you can’t lie and say it doesn’t make you want her more. 

You turn your face back to Christen, brow raised. “It’s not your neck that gets marked up to high heaven Chris!” You whine, pouting your lower lip just a smidge more than necessary as your girlfriend chuckles at the outburst, and then rolls those beautiful grey green eyes. 

“I don’t have to leave them on your neck you know…” Christen whispers, an arched eyebrow meeting yours. 

Suddenly the flame is ignited again, and you groan.  _ That’s unfair _ , you think. Christen’s sitting on her knees, grinning like a Cheshire Cat at her little idea. And  _ god _ it’s making you melt into a puddle. Christen with her curls hanging over the side of her shoulder, her sleep shirt (stolen from you) stretched out and sticking to her chest where her nipples stood proudly, and her goddamn cocked brow as if she didn’t know you’d give up the fight that easily. 

“Fine.” You agree, leaning down to kiss her lips. The taste of strawberry floods your mouth and you moan. It's Christen’s organic chapstick she puts on before bed. Somehow it stays on all night. Christen wastes no time in pushing you back, and teasing the edges of your agreement. She kisses your jaw lightly, her palm against your breast at the same time. 

Her tongue licks hot against your clavicle and you can feel the fabric of the boxers between your legs dampen. Christen’s soft hands move under your shirt, grazing past your abs and up to your beasts. 

“See...I can leave these everywhere,” Christen murmurs as she begins to nip at your chest and you already know that a red raised spot is blooming there. Your hands grip at her shoulders, needing something to hold onto while you lose all coherent sense. Christen lowers herself to your breast and you whimper at the warmth swelling around your nipple. 

_ Fuck _ . 

Christen manages to leave a hickey on your breast. It’s raised and red, soon to be a bit purple while it heals. And it’s the hottest thing you’ve seen. 

Her mouth trails lower to your abs, letting her tongue explore the soft divots between hardened skin. She sucks and bites sloppily, and lets her spit trickle down your skin. Somehow you still have goosebumps. 

You ended that morning with an orgasm each and a shower, where you actually got clean for once. But you can’t stop thinking about Christen and how she still wanted to leave a mark that morning. Especially on game day.

You play her that night and the intensity is immense. Utah throws a great fight but you’re entranced by the forward, and you remember you have a giant hickey courtesy of her on the field. 

She scores while you’re distracted, hands high up to the sky and a sloppy wink that's more of a blink in your general direction. 

You’re  _ hers _ and it’s always been true. 

——

“ _ More _ ,” you’re moaning bent over on your hands and knees begging for more. 

And it’s not your first time. 

Christen kisses along the column of your spine, being careful and tender especially where you’ve been hurting. She hums against your skin, her two fingers sliding out of you making you keen. 

“Fuck...Chris... _ please _ ?” You ask breathlessly, feeling your wetness drip down your thighs as she pulls away. Christen sucks on her fingers while her other hand finds your hip and pulls you towards hers. You groan at the feeling of her against you. 

Christen was in her teasing mood, running her fingers through your wetness. She let it coat her fingertips while she pressed her lips to the back of your shoulder. 

You’re desperate for more, for anything from her. And this right here is why you’ll laugh every time someone says that Christen must be whipped for you when it’s clearly the other way around. Christen was whipped for you, but you were by far more whipped. You were desperate for Christen. So very desperate to please.

Christen takes pity on the whimpering mess she’s created, finally pushing her fingers inside while her teeth sink into the sucking bruise she’s making across the back of your shoulder. She’s covering every inch of you in intricate detail, like a dazzling constellation of purple blooming tattoos.

“So tight Tobes,” Christen cooes, her other hand steadying your hips while she thrusts. You feel like your heart is about to burst as your hips tighten, and your body is shaking. Christen notices the shaking and slows her thrusts so that she can angle her thumb to press against your swollen nub. 

And that’s when the bough breaks and the dam crumbles down, all your inhibitions pouring over her. Christen can feel it and her grin returns, lowering herself against your core. Licking, sucking and tasting all you had to offer. 

Tasting what was hers. You’re boneless and panting now, with her curled up on her side, trailing her fingertips against the sweaty sheen covering your toned abs. Christen smiles as she sees the markings across your chest and knows there’s matching ones at the base of your spine. 

“You’re beautiful…” she trails off making the statement while the first notes of dawn rise through the window shades. “I’m so lucky,” 

You hum in agreement, still too far gone to reply. Christen reaches out to caress the marks, wincing as you shudder at the sudden feeling. 

“Do they hurt, baby?” She asks, seeing the deep bruising. You shrug, not too concerned. 

“I wouldn’t say no, but Chris it’s hot. I like them, you know that. I’m yours.” You reply nonchalantly, being honest. 

“You’re mine, but I’m also yours.”




“It’s really no problem, I would love to talk to you about the mala.” Christen is gentle and clasps her hands over the waiters softly. That’s when the feeling sparks within you. The jealousy. You’ve spent years with Christen, and she’s been hit on by hundreds of men in various spaces. And those just make you annoyed at the presence of men in general. The audacity of a man to try and hit on her girlfriend, in front of her? Unmatched. 

But this isn’t a man trying to get into Christen’s pants. It’s a tall blonde with silver inked tattoos across her wrist, and a nose ring. 

And it’s making your chest  _ hurt _ . 

“Oh, you’re the sweetest! I’ll be right back with those wines you ordered.” The young woman—you can read Keely on her name tag- chirps, turning on her heel. Christen murmurs a thank you, nudging your thigh to respond as well. You give a half hearted thanks, trying not to overreact. 

“Tobes, have you made a decision about that rug yet? You know we can take it back, I don’t know what I was thinking when choosing Black and Tan! It so clashes with your…” 

You aren’t listening. Christen realizes it and attempts to engage with you physically. You can feel her hand squeezing yours in an attempt to reel you back in. You grumble at her, getting up to go to the bathroom in the back of the restaurant. 

Your hands are shaking while you steady yourself on the edge of the cheap sink, lower lip trembling. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this bone crushing sensation before. Other women insecure of themselves may see Christen’s bisexuality as a threat, but you never have. You’ve seen her around her ex, Nima, and never felt a shred of this jealousy, this insecurity. 

But this waitress has been doting on Christen extra long and won’t be scared off by a declaration of them being queer like most men are. She admired her mala for far too long, and hovered over her while taking an order. 

The door creaks open and you rush to grab soap, knowing you have to go back out there and face your girlfriend…

But she’s right behind you. 

“Tobin?” Christen’s soft, tentative. You turn sheepishly, hands still wet. 

“You didn’t have to check up on me.” You say gruffly, rubbing your palms against the thighs of your jeans. Christen steps closer, firmly in your space now and not leaving. 

“When my girlfriend is clenching her jaw so hard it might shatter, and she runs to the bathroom shaking yes, I do.” She responds, trailing a finger up and down your cheek. “What’s going on Tobin?”

You find it hard to articulate, the sense of whirring jealousy brewing underneath your skin. You’re afraid of her scoffing and laughing at the ridiculous notion that you could be jealous of the stupid waiter. But it goes beyond that. That you’re Christen’s and everyone tries to take her from you. And maybe you feel threatened by her long hair and freckles and that damn nose ring. Threatened that Christen was flirting back, unknowingly so. 

“I-I,” You stutter, unprepared for this. The moment of confrontation. The words roll around in your mouth before you can speak to Christen. “The waitress is all over you.” 

It stings to be quite honest. The way Christen steps back with a ‘really now?’ As soon as you speak, you feel like you’ve fucked up. You watch Christen’s green eyes widen and the way her nostrils flare as she decides to step back forward.

“You’re jealous of a waitress of whom I’ve never seen before?” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “ _ Tobin _ .”

You push forward off the sink and grip Christen’s waist while your mouths meet. It’s sloppy and angry. Teeth clack while lips push and pull. Hands grabbing at waistbands. Christen whines at you nipping her lower lip, digging teeth in. You get your hand under her shirt quickly, almost too soon. Hands dragging across taut abs and feeling the delicate swell of a tummy. Christen’s hands drag across your biceps, pulling at your button up collar that was way too tight for her liking-  _ thanks wildfang- _ while your lips are bruising with the force of the need to mark your relationship. 

“Fuck baby, you want me?” Christen croons, feeling your hand dip into her waistband and tremble across smooth skin. She’s slick and wet and everything that makes your heart beat in double time. You slip one— no  _ two _ fingers in. 

and  _ fuck _

She’s so warm, letting you in. You curl once just to hear her moan into your neck. Christen sighs softly, letting her head hang down. You keep pushing in and out until you’re sure her arousal is dripping down your wrist. Your thumb swipes her clit. Once, twice - three times until you hear that tell-tale cry and feel the tightness. Christen’s body tightens from her neck to her toes. 

this is your chance and you take it. Your lips press to her throat. Her throat feels like it’s on fire when your lips touch her skin. Your teeth sink in, biting down. 

Christen is  _ yours _ . 

And the blooming, bruising, red mark on her neck is proof of that. 


End file.
